


Scars

by Lokomotiv



Series: Tony & Tony Series [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, NCIS, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 19:17:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11191650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokomotiv/pseuds/Lokomotiv
Summary: A conversation between the Tonys after the events of Missing, about how Tony (Stark) was able to determine that the body wasn’t Tony (DiNozzo).





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> Tony DiNozzo POV.

Tony hadn’t exactly planned to bring it up, but as time went on and he got better, he found that he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Oh, it wasn’t that he thought about it constantly, but the memory of Ducky’s words would suddenly pop up, bringing with it an uncomfortable churning in his gut that had nothing to do with the physical damage. He’d push the thought away, think of something else, and the feeling would go away with it. Until the next time the memory would enter his mind, uninvited and unwelcome. Problem was, instead of happening less frequently as time passed, he found himself working not to think about it more and more often.

Then one night, when he was still in pretty bad shape, but well enough to insist on some light fooling around, he realized that with his shirt off and his boyfriend trailing featherlight kisses down his spine, he just couldn’t get rid of that uncomfortable feeling.

“You all right there?” the other Tony asked softly.

 “I’m maybe not as up for this as I’d hoped,” Tony sighed, and his boyfriend immediately backed off.

Carefully rearranging them both so they were facing each other, the other Tony then pulled the covers up around their shoulders. He reached forward and kissed Tony softly, and somehow managed to manoeuvre so that when he drew back, Tony’s head was resting in the palm of his hand instead of against the pillow. The older man studied him for a few seconds, and must have read something in his face.

“It’s fine, Tony Two, it’s all good. You’re getting better, that’s the only important thing."

Tony closed his eyes, focused on the sensation of his boyfriend’s rough palm against his face.

“Ducky said you knew the sailor wasn’t me."

“Yeah?"

Tony kept his eyes closed, for the moment ignoring the unspoken question, trusting the other Tony to be patient with him. The fact that he actually _did_ trust him like that gave him the courage both to carefully probe the knot inside him to find out what exactly bothered him the most, and to say it out loud once he thought he’d gotten close. He didn’t open his eyes though, and he wasn’t sure if that was an act of courage or one of cowardice.

“He said you listed a bunch of my scars that the body didn’t have. Showed me the text. Those were... very specific scars. I have others."

The silence that followed lasted for several seconds, and the only thing keeping Tony from panicking was the tiny movement of the other man’s thumb against his cheek, stroking slowly back and forth. When the response came, it was so unexpected Tony’s eyes flew open without conscious decision. Instead of responding verbally, the older man gently grabbed Tonys hand and brought it up to his own face, lifting his head then lowering it again, placing his own cheek in Tony’s palm. His boyfriend silently met his startled gaze for a few seconds before he spoke.

“I never had as many as you, and the ones I had are gone. Plastic surgery."

Tony just stared. The other Tony gave wry smile in response to his astonishment.

“Yeah. He usually stopped before he drew blood. Very functional drunk, my Dad."

“Oh."

“So anyway. Yes, I know what those scars mean, and no, I don’t pity you. And _yes_ , it’s okay to have issues about it. Still won't pity you."

“Do _you_?"

“Have issues about it?"

“Yeah."

“Yup. Boatloads. Pepper and Rhodey just stopped ever mentioning my father after they figured out they never could predict how I’d react."

“They know?"

“No. Or they know a bit. Not about the beatings."

“Does anybody?"

“Nope. Stane, my Dad’s business partner, knew some of it. He was the one who insisted on the plastic surgery before I started MIT. They were pretty unambiguous, the scars, and by that time it wasn’t happening very often anyway, not like that. Not in ways that resulted in distinctive scarring. So I guess it seemed like a good time to get rid of the evidence. They couldn’t have people speculating, because you know, the company."

“Wow. That’s cold."

“Well, I’m not sure I blame him, actually. For that. Other things, hell yes. But I mean, at that point, during most of my childhood really, people finding out about Dad hitting me the way he did would have been an actual threat to national security. Now it wouldn’t be an issue, he’s dead and we’re out of the weapons game, but there’s really no point in a big reveal either. Could be fun dragging both his and Stane’s reputation through the mud, but you know. Eh."

“Wouldn’t actually make a difference."

“No."

“The only thing that would is if he explained himself. Maybe apologized."

At that, the other Tony’s eyebrows rose. But he nodded.

“Yeah. Hadn’t really thought about it like that, but yes. But it can’t happen, so better let it go."

Tony nodded. He’d told himself the same thing, despite his own father being alive and kicking, and it hurt every time. Not as much as the little piece of himself that was still hoping for that explanation, that apology, though. That razor-sharp shard of hope cut him more deeply than the repeated blunt force impact of the certainty that it was just never going happen.

“Your Dad?” the older Tony asked, very very softly, but meeting his gaze steadily.

Tony hesitated, but only for half a moment.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Drunk. Not so functional."

He felt that it should have been harder than it was, admitting to it finally, out loud.

“From the scarring, I’d say… maybe belt? But thinner. Strap?"

“Cane."

“Ouch."

“Small one though, not one of those horrible ones like in the movies."

“Still. Ouch."

“Good thing was he was usually too drunk to be systematic about it. The scars are mostly from when he was sober and could you know, aim."

“He’s still alive, yeah?"

“Yeah. Not holding my breath for an apology though."

“No, I get that."

“I guess one more item for the list, huh?” Tony said with a small smile.

Instead of smiling back, as Tony had expected, the older man looked decidedly shifty.

“What?” Tony asked.

“Well, um. It’s, uh, actually already on there."

“Yeah?"

Thinking about it, Tony realized that that made sense, of course. He nodded.

“Right, of course. Since when, though?"

“Um, since always, kind of?"

“What?"

“Not the first night we spent together, but the morning after. You know, when we started listing things."

“Seriously?"

“Yep."

“Ooh, so _that’s_ why you never want to come right out and say how many entries we have!"

“Um-"

“Because I don’t know about them all. That’s very sneaky of you. Are there others? That I don’t know about, I mean?"

The older man hesitated, looking uncomfortable. Tony briefly wondered why, since any entires on that list had to be things they both knew about. Then he realized that the specific entries he’d asked about would have to be things that the other Tony knew about him, but that he did _not_ know about the other Tony. And he knew that despite all the similarities between them, there were also some big differences, one of which was that the older Tony was not as comfortable as Tony himself was with sharing parts of himself with others. Tony wondered if it was maybe a result of a life in the lime-light, there was so much of his boyfriend that pretty much _everybody_ knew, so he needed to ration what he could in order to have any sense of control. Regardless, Tony didn’t want to pressure the other man into telling him things he wasn’t comfortable sharing.

“Never mind,” he hurried to say. “You know, you can just surprise me with them when the time is right, or something. I’m willing to wait."

The tension melted from the other man’s face, and he smiled, expression open and radiant in a way that it only rarely was.

“You’re really something, Tony Two,” he said, still smiling.

“Why, because I’m willing to wait? Pretty much anything with you is worth waiting for, you know."

“Mhm, I was talking about something else, but you’ll have to wait to find out what."

“Wha-"

Tony was interrupted by another soft kiss, this one not so brief as the last. Closing his eyes and inwardly melting, he sighed happily as the other man drew away to take a breath.

“I’ll wait, no problem. Just keep doing that and I’ll wait pretty much forever,” Tony mumbled.

“You’re worth waiting for too, Tony too,” his boyfriend murmured, and kissed him again.

“Yeah? When do I ever make you wait? For like anything?” Tony asked, amused, between kisses.

“Hm, point."

A thought hit Tony.

“Shit, I’m sorry, that was a dick thing to say, considering the circumstances."

“Huh, what?"

“I got you going earlier and then-"

“Hey, don’t. You’re injured, there’s no hurry. And I told you, you’re so worth waiting for. There is _no problem_  here."

Tony, still feeling a bit shitty, hesitated before nodding.

"Can’t say I’m not looking forward to you being fully recovered and all the life-affirming wild monkey sex we’re gonna have, but I’ll wait. Semi-patiently, even."

Tony threw his head back and laughed, suddenly feeling better than he had since he woke up in the hospital.

“Maybe let’s try again?"

“Hey, I was demonstrating my willingness to wait over here!"

“Would you rather wait or fool around?"

“Well, when you put it that way..."


End file.
